by David Duncan
The great courtyard of the lodge was blue with predawn shadow and clammy with dew. There were no sounds in it except the clatter of the two foils and the panting of the fencers sending out puffs of steam in the early-morning air; no one around except those called for this match. Bare branches shone darkly against a silver sky.
This was the third time Wallie had watched his protégé go up for promotion. The first two had been easy for him, but now he was having a struggle. Tivanixi had followed orders and chosen good Sixths to be Nnanji's examiners.
But Wallie had said nothing about judges. Being the candidate's direct vassal, Tivanixi was himself ineligible, and he had selected two judges with care. Probably he had done nothing so crude as to drop hints to them. He had merely selected men who could pick up their own hints. He had met Wallie at the door, suave and elegant despite the early hour, presenting his four Sixths, two to fence and two to judge. But a facemarker and a tailor had been routed out of bed to attend, and that was hardly routine. He had given Nnanji the salute to a superior. He had suggested that the light was still poor for fencing-would the judges consider doing the sutra test first, he had asked, knowing that Nnanji was good at that. The judges had shown their understanding by throwing easy ones. If the fencing examiners had not gotten the message from that, then they should have understood when the hurdles were left in place, cramping the work although the whole courtyard was available.
The first examiner was certainly a good Sixth, but much older than Nnanji, so Nnanji had naturally played for time, winding him-yet it was the Sixth who had been reprimanded for not making a fight of it. Disheartened by that obvious injustice, he had lost the bout shortly thereafter.
The second opponent had resented these sleazy tactics and had fought hard. Then, with the score tied at one all, had come this disputed point. Such things happened all the time-that was why there were judges-but Wallie would have made the award against Nnanji, had he been judging.
Yet that was hardly fair, either, for he was barely paying attention. He had so many things whirling in his mind that he could hardly stand still beside the hurdles, wanting to pace up and down among the statues and benches. Sleepy spectators were appearing on the balconies, roused by the clatter.
"Hit!" Nnanji shouted.
The judges agreed.
Nnanji of the Sixth! Wallie stepped forward to congratulate him, half angry at the manipulation, half amused that even his righteous oath brother could bend his standards enough to ignore it. Yet it was a valuable lesson in the difference between obedience and cooperation-Tivanixi was looking very smug.
The tailor bowed and held out a green kilt. Nnanji tried it against himself and said in surprise that it seemed like a perfect fit. The tailor bowed once more and smiled. "Lord Tivanixi brought around a Second who was the same size as your honor."
So it had been specially made during the night? Wallie frowned reproachfully at Tivanixi, who avoided his eye. Nnanji threw off his red and put on the green, grinned in delight at nowhere in particular, then sat down on one of the benches while the facemarker pulled up his stool. Wallie could not express his feelings without creating a scandal, so he merely thanked all four Sixths and dismissed them.
"Your orders for the day, my liege?" Tivanixi inquired blandly.
Where to start?
"I wish to meet with the council as soon as possible," Wallie said. "Then with the Sixths. The town is being patrolled as usual, I suppose?" He pondered. "There must be many retired swordsmen in this city."
The castellan nodded, puzzled. "They hang around the lodge all the time."
"Pick one that looks as much like our sorcerer as possible. Swear him to the tryst, then smuggle him down to Sapphire-"
Tivanixi laughed. "And parade him back in chains? Bands playing? Crowds booing?"
Wallie nodded approvingly. This man was quick.
"Should we also arrange for other imposters to scream in relays from the dungeons, do you think?" Tivanixi asked.
Wallie chuckled and said he thought that might be going too far, "Are any of these ex-swordsmen elders?" he inquired. "Or city employees of any sort?"
"One is a port officer, my liege."
"Great!" Just what Wallie had hoped for. "Swear him, also! At swordpoint if necessary."
The castellan frowned, trying to work out this one.
"We need to know the official scale of dock fees," Wallie explained. "A ship of Sapphire's size pays two golds in a sorcerer town, but five in a swordsman town. The difference is supposedly graft."
"My liege?" Tivanixi was still puzzled.
"The sorcerers have made their port officers honest. They are trying to increase trade, because some ships shirk their ports. We, however, are merely going to take over collection of dock fees in Casr. We need to know the official scale and the real charges. Then-in the example I quoted-we shall remit two golds to the town, as required by law, and three to the tryst for providing the service. That solves the money problem."
Tivanixi gasped and very nearly slapped his liege lord on the shoulder. He slapped his own thigh instead. "Brilliant, my liege! I shall see to it! Honorable Fiendori is the man for that job!"
He went off, almost skipping. Wallie sighed. It could not possibly be as easy as he had just made it seem, but perhaps he had gained some time to work on more secure finances. Nnanji came sauntering over, grinning and rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand.
"Congratulations once more, Honorable Nnanji," Wallie said. "You look about half the right age for the job, but I am sure you can handle it."
"Thank you, brother!" Then he blurted out, "I'm not an easy mark now?"
"No, I don't think so," Wallie replied carefully. "You were an exceptional Fifth. You're an average Sixth, I should say. A pity about that disputed hit," he added, "but I do not dispute the call."
Nnanji's eyes glittered coldly. "Thank you, brother," he said again. "I assure you that I did not feel a hit."
Wallie winced. Of course Nnanji would not have lied about that. And the reason he had not rejected Tivanixi's underhanded assistance was that he had not even noticed it. "You ought to try a longer foil, brother," he said hastily.
Nnanji shook his head. "It was the same length as my sword." He pulled out his sword and measured it in the traditional fashion by holding it above his head and seeing where the point came on his chest. Then he just stared at Wallie, bewildered.
And Wallie stared back in shock. "When we bought that sword for you, back in the temple armory, your eyes were not level with mine." He had not noticed the change in height. It had been gradual. And now he could see that it had also been masked by the broadening shoulders, the thickening layers of muscle. All that day-long fencing was starting to show results. "Tell me, Nnanji, is it usual in this World for a man of your age to be still growing like that?"
Again Nnanji shook his head. His eyes were not only level with Wallie's now, they were suddenly shining in the dawn light. "No! Of course not! This must be a miracle for me, brother!"
"It's Lina's cooking!" Wallie was trying not to show how uneasy this discovery made him, but he was also still feeling guilty for having doubted Nnanji's honesty. "Come on," he said, "I'll find you a new one."
Then he jumped as a bugler shattered the peace of the lodge with the opening bars of The Swordsmen in the Morning.
Wallie led the way to the museum, pausing halfway up to recruit a trio of burly, eye-rubbing juniors from one of the dormitories. He had them lift the great bar from the door, then sent them away, awed by his rank and looking puzzled. The door creaked in agony and Wallie led Nnanji inside.
The long room was even colder than before, dark and dusty and depressing. Nnanji's eyes went wide as he saw what it was.
"There's the Chioxin," Wallie said. "Thought to be the ruby. But I doubt if much of the rest of this stuff is known at all. Pick a sword. Help yourself."
Nnanji stared at the long wall covered with swords. "That would be stealing, brother!"
"The lodge? The craft? The Goddess?"
"Well?" Wallie demanded. "You are liege lord of Her tryst. I'm sure that She wants you to have a good sword. Help yourself."
"Oh!" Nnanji said, his teeth shining in the gloom as he grinned. "Well, I shall leave my old one, the sword that won the battle of Ov-very historical. Now, let's see."
They measured a few against him and chose a length, then both wandered up and down the room, checking swords of that size. As Wallie had noticed before, long swords were surprisingly common. Some were rusted, but the best steels had fought back and were still good. Quite soon Nnanji said, "This one!"
Wallie took it to a window and bent it and swung it and said yes, that was a fine blade, better than his old one, even.
"Now you need someone to give it to you," he said. "I'm sure that anyone would be proud. Tivanixi, Boariyi... even Katanji, if you like. Thana, maybe?"
"You haven't shown me the Sixths' signs yet, mentor," Nnanji said coyly.
"True! There are six of them." Wallie proceeded to do so: the challenge, the obeisance, the warning, the appeal for assistance, the acknowledgment, and the reversal of meaning. Of course he needed to demonstrate each of them only once.
"And that's all!" he finished. "There are no secret signs for seventh rank. If a Seventh wants to signal to a Seventh, he uses those."
"Why not?" Nnanji demanded, sounding cheated.
"I suppose because Sevenths are so rare that they don't meet very often."
Nnanji chuckled. "Well, that's done! Now I'm a Sixth and you're not my mentor anymore." The second oath lapsed when a protégé achieved promotion. "You will allow me to swear to you again?"
"Of course. My honor! And I'm sure feat you'll make Seventh, probably right after we disband the tryst."
"Thank you!" Nnanji had no doubts at all. "But right now you're not my mentor, so it would be all right for you to give me this sword... if you would? I should like that, oath brother."
"If you wish," Wallie said, although he thought it was bending the tradition slightly-he was only temporarily not Nnanji's mentor. He knelt on one knee and held out the sword in the ancient ritual. "Live by this. Wield it in Her service. Die holding it."
He thought of young Arganari being given the Chioxin topaz.
"It shall be my honor and my pride." The traditional words, although Nnanji probably meant them more than most. He took the sword and put it in his scabbard, then hung his old one on the wall. "Now I may swear the second oath, Lord Shonsu?"
"For the last time, Honorable Nnanji," said Wallie. "And we should both see about getting some more protégés. And bodyguards. The sorcerers are sure to start reacting soon."
* * *
When they reached the courtyard, it was starting to bustle. Slaves were working two pumps, filling a long trough at which naked swordsmen were washing themselves. Other slaves were tending fires in makeshift iron ranges, starting to cook breakfast. Nnanji headed for a grindstone to sharpen his new sword, enlisting a First to tread for him. More men were trickling out of doorways and a large party came marching in from the street, led by Boariyi and his uncle and about a dozen Sixths.
Tivanixi appeared at Wallie's elbow. "I have spoken to Fiendori, my liege. Port officers will be escorted in future." He laughed. "I think the elders may have some comments to make on the subject."
"Why?" Wallie asked innocently. "We are performing a service for them."
The castellan chuckled, then nodded at the procession approaching. "Money is your stroke at the other tryst, my liege. Lord Boariyi cannot afford to feed his men. Perhaps you should invite him to have breakfast?"
"Too obvious. We'll give him a few days. Say nothing." But it was a pleasing thought. He could coerce Boariyi with money.
Boariyi came to a halt and made the salute to an equal, his face expressionless below a blue bandage on which he had marked seven swords with charcoal. Wallie responded to him, then to a salute from Zoariyi, who looked resentful and suspicious. Nnanji was still busy with his sword on the grindstone. Tivanixi saw Wallie's glance toward him.
"We can proceed with the council meeting at once, my liege, as you wished," he said. "The others are waiting." For propriety's sake, Nnanji should not meet the other Sevenths in public until they had sworn to him.
Wallie agreed. Tivanixi led the way. They entered the building by the door closest to the street exit and walked into another of the long rooms. One side was all windows, looking out at a litter of kitchen equipment. The other was paneled, much of the wood scuffed and split with age. The ceiling lurked above a mist of cobwebs.
The room was already full of swordsmen, standing or sitting on stools and benches, muttering and laughing. As the seniors entered, they sprang to their feet in a rattle of furniture and boots. Among these middleranks, to Wallie's surprise, was Katanji.
His white kilt was soiled and rumpled, half his pony tail had escaped from his hairclip, and his eyes were red-rimmed, but he smiled when he saw Wallie, seeming quite relaxed. Still the boy hero, he had apparently been entertaining the company with his stories, yet he looked as if he had not slept all night. What had the little devil been up to this time? He showed no signs of wishing to talk. Reluctant to ask, Wallie merely nodded and smiled as he passed by.
This was an antechamber. A door at the far end led into a smaller, square room, although it was large also. At the far side was a huge stone fireplace, its hearth strewn with old ashes. Three walls were paneled, the fourth all grimy windows. A filthy gray rug only partly covered a floor of splintered planks; in its center was a circle of seven stools. Along the wall opposite the windows stood a large chest, a single brocade chair-shabby and leaking feathers-and, surprisingly, a bed covered with a greasy fur. A foggy bronze mirror hung beside the door. Evidently this grubby, stale-smelling chamber had several uses.
Three Sevenths rose and made their salutes. Most conspicuous was the elderly Chinarama, shriveled and slightly ridiculous compared to his much younger and more muscular companions. His ponytail was a white wisp and his harness fitted badly, but his eyes were quick and clear. An older man might be a valuable counselor. As Nnanji had said, he wouldn't hurt. His movements were awkward, hinting perhaps at arthritis, and his face none too friendly. A Boariyi supporter, then.
Then there was Jansilui, who was around thirty, square-jawed and stocky, with one facemark not properly healed. He seemed less hostile, probably caring little who was leader if it could not be himself.
Linumino was older, about fifty, and running to fat. One side of his face was hideously scarred where a sword cut had removed half the eyebrow and cheek and, seemingly, part of the underlying bone as well. The skin there was sunken and a puckered white, like weathered leather. It was a miracle that his eye had survived. He would not have been a contender for the leadership. His salute was perfunctory, so he was another Boariyi supporter at heart. Wallie wondered briefly which of the six he would ask if he were Nnanji trying for promotion; with old Chinarama out of bounds, certainly this portly Linumino, and probably Zoariyi, who was similarly nearing retirement.
Wallie invited them all to be seated. Suspicion hung in the air like a bad smell. In trial by combat the Goddess had declared him innocent, yet that fight had been as near as possible a draw, and trial by combat was not a normal procedure anyway. They did not completely trust him; they would obey him, but they might obey willingly or-as Tivanixi had done over Nnanji's promotion-reluctantly, honoring his words while thwarting his purpose.
He mentioned that Nnanji had gained promotion and would be there shortly to receive their homage, but, as a Sixth, would not be a member of the council. Wallie had some special duties in mind for Nnanji. Then he went on to the subject of money, explaining how the tryst was going to divert the unofficial portion of the harbor dues. They all smiled at that.
"So you have solved the finance problem at one stroke, my liege?" Chinarama asked.
"For the moment,
" Wallie said. He turned to more difficult matters. "Lord Boariyi, you have sworn the first oath only. I propose to treat you as a full member of this council, and your vassals as members of the tryst. In return, I ask-"
Nnanji never knocked on doors. He marched in and slammed this one behind him. He was scowling. The Sevenths rose to their feet again, most of them returning his scowl.
He wiped a hand on his new green kilt. He reached for his sword. He gave Lord Boariyi the salute to a superior in impeccable fashion, then glanced cryptically at Wallie and waited.
Who saluted whom? The damnable fourth oath was fouling up all the rituals. Hesitantly Wallie presented Nnanji to Chinarama, and the two exchanged salute and response.
"Now I swear the third oath to you, Honorable Nnanji?" the old man inquired petulantly.
"It distresses me, my lord," Nnanji said in his soft voice, "to have to accept such an oath from a respected senior such as yourself, but that seems to be what Lord Shonsu's position..."
Wallie saw a look of horror come over Boariyi's face, then Tivanixi's. He followed their gaze. Nnanji was tugging his left earlobe, he had his right thumb in his belt, his right knee was slightly bent.
Nnanji was making the sign of secret challenge to Chinarama.
What! Had he gone insane? Promotion? Of course not-he would need to secure judges first, and courtesy would demand that he ask before he challenged, and it was illegal anyway...
Nnanji was still babbling on about oaths. Chinarama was paying no attention to the signal. Then he became aware of the tension about him, and his eyes flickered warily around the group.
Wallie flashed out his sword left-handed and laid the point at the old man's throat. "Put your hands straight up in the air!" he bellowed, pushing Nnanji aside with his injured arm, which hurt. "Say it, Nnanji!"
"I denounce this man as an imposter."
Chinarama curled his lip in a sneer. "So there are some swordsmen with brains, are there?" Then he burst into a diatribe of obscenities and vituperation, a lifelong hatred of swordsmen spilling out like pus as he ranted about rapists and murderers and thieves, perverts and bullies... It was rank and nauseating, but Wallie let it run on until it died away of itself; he kept the sword-point steady. There would be no need to try this case. The man had confessed.